


Serious Guys

by mtothedestiel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blackmail, Bucky Barnes Feels, Crimes & Criminals, Engagement, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Heist, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, No substance, Ocean's Eleven AU, POV Steve Rogers, Panty Kink, Physical Abuse, Prison, Teamwork, all style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-25 03:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 15,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3794527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mtothedestiel/pseuds/mtothedestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Ocean's Eleven AU.  Steve Rogers has been in jail for the last twenty-seven months.  Today, he’s finally out of the freezer, and he’s got a few things to take care of.  First off, he needs a job, and for that he’s gonna need his right hand man, who happens to be a woman.  Next, he’s gonna need to get the gang back together, or what’s left of it since he was put away.  Lastly, and most importantly, Steve needs to find Bucky Barnes.  Where did his fiancé manage to disappear to, anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 2015

**Author's Note:**

> So. Here we are in another mtothedestiel bizarre genre AU. I love ocean's eleven and heist movies in general, and I thought the team dynamic would be a nice fit for the Avengers, not to mention the Danny/Tess possibilities with Bucky and Steve. That being said, I can't guarantee this fic will be as meticulously updated as I would like. I'm moving across the country in a short while and I can't be certain of my internet set up in my new digs. This story is probably gonna be a little haphazard, but if you love the George Clooney version as much as I do you know that's just going with the theme. A few warnings:  
> \- I tagged for abusive relationships. That abuse is NOT between Bucky and STeve.  
> -The abuse is between Bucky and Pierce. I'll never show it explicitly, but if that's not your game I totally understand.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!

Parole hearing.  Check.  

Paperwork. Check.

Personal effects.  Check.

The last door opens and Steve steps into fresh air for the first time in two years.

Well, fresh is relative.  This is still Jersey.

Natasha is waiting for him at the gate, leaning against a jet black Ferrari and finishing off a McDouble.  Steve is a little touched that she came. 

“Nice beard,” she quips, tossing a crumpled, greasy wrapper over her shoulder.

“Thanks,” Steve answers, rubbing his chin, “The razors in there were shit.”

“The ladies will dig it.”

“You know it’s not ladies I’m worried about,” Steve says, slinging his bag over his shoulder, “Where is he?”

Natasha shrugs.  “I don’t know.” 

She’s lying, but Steve lets it go for now. 

“Did you bring me any food?”


	2. 2010

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first of many teasing flashbacks to come. As you can guess the order of these chapters isn't going to be strictly chronological. The chapter title will indicate what year it takes place. Enjoy!

The lock to their apartment turns, rattling a little as it sticks.  Steve doesn't move.  There's only one other person who has that key.

“I’m in the bedroom.”

“Right where I left ‘ya.”

“Need a hand?”

“I’m good.”

Steve can hear the rustling of a few bags as Bucky kicks the front door closed.  Grocery run.  Steve offered to tag along but Bucky wanted to make it on his own, no gloves.  From the sound of it he didn’t have any mishaps. 

“So I bought somethin’ today,” Bucky calls from the other room, and something in his voice makes Steve put down the schematics he was studying.

“Oh yeah?”

Bucky appears in the doorway, a little flushed, blue-gray eyes bright.  His hair is starting to curl around his ears, either due for a trim or getting ready to grow out for real.  Steve’s heart beats quicker with the sight of him.  Always does. 

“Yeah,” he says, breathless, “I had to run in real quick.  Didn’t want the milk to go sour in the car.  Speaking of which-“

Bucky vanishes back to the front room, which gives Steve the chance to put his papers away.  Stuff for a job a few weeks away yet.  Nothing to worry his boyfriend over.  He hears the rustle of bags and the open and shut of the refrigerator door before Bucky reappears. 

“You were saying?” Steve prompts, sitting up on the edge of their bed, his feet bare against the worn out carpet.

“I was saying,” Bucky continues, walking in and depositing himself right into Steve’s lap, like he belongs there, “I had to run in and out, but things went well at the store, so I thought I deserved a treat.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” Steve agrees, hands already dragging under Bucky’s knit sweater, “Am I involved in this treat?”

“Could be,” Bucky says, knees tucked on either side of Steve’s hips.  His hands rest around Steve’s neck, flesh and metal. 

“You wanna know the best part, Steve?”

“I do.” 

“They let me wear ‘em right outta the store,” Bucky reveals, and Steve’s curiosity is piqued.  

Bucky pushes Steve down, flat on his back.  He watches, hungry, as Bucky pulls his J Crew sweater over his head.  Bucky tosses the shirt aside, biting his lip as he toys with the button of his jeans. 

“Want to help me out?” Bucky offers.  Steve is still caught up staring at Bucky’s bare chest, all scarred skin and smooth muscle. 

“I want what you want,” Steve murmurs, but he reaches up to tug down Bucky’s fly anyway.  He isn’t surprised, really, when the denim peels back to reveal baby blue lace, but somehow it still makes his breath catch.  Bucky dips down to kiss him, pleased with Steve’s reaction.  He shimmies out of his jeans, smiling into their kiss before sitting back to let the silk panties have their moment.  Steve’s grip lands on Bucky’s waist, thumbs just brushing the lace edging. 

God, he’s gorgeous.  Delicate lace over sun-tanned skin, cradling a hardening cock Steve can already taste.

Steve will never be worthy of the man in his lap, but he’s too greedy not to take what he’s offered.

Bucky leans forward again, letting Steve feel him through the thin material of his pajama pants.  He takes Steve’s hands and moves them from his waist to his ass.

“What I want,” Bucky breathes into Steve’s ear, guiding his hands to drag over the silky material, “Is for you to help me mess these up.”

Steve sighs, nosing into the pleasant musky scent of Bucky’s throat, lace and warm skin at his fingertips.

“My pleasure, baby.”


	3. 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the present timeline...

Atlantic City has not improved since Steve went behind bars.  In fairness, Atlantic City probably hasn’t improved since it sprouted out of the ground in 1903.  Steve drags his hand across his newly smoothed jaw.  Less than twenty four hours out and his suit already smells like cigarettes again.

“You sure he’s here?” Steve asks.  Natasha gives him a look as she locks the car doors.  Steve raises his hands in surrender.

“I’m just asking.”

Natasha tosses her hair over her shoulder and leads the way into the casino.  It’s seedy, even by Steve’s standards. 

They find him on the floor, dealing blackjack to a couple of drunks.  When they drop into two open seats at his table he doesn’t even look up, dealing them in automatically.  Steve frowns, but Natasha just taps her ear.  When the dealer turns to collect from his inebriated players Steve can see the hearing aids. 

They’re off.  Steve can’t say he blames the guy, given his current company. 

Natasha wraps on the table, and the guy finally looks up.  He freezes.

“Hiya, Clint.”

He doesn’t even need to read Steve’s lips.  Still, the dealer touches one hand to the device in his ear before speaking.

“Sorry buddy,” the dealer says, pointing to his nametag, “You must have me mixed up with someone else.  My name is Barney, as you can read right here.”

“Is that so?” Steve asks, grinning at Natasha, “Our mistake.”

“I’d say we’re a little played out anyway,” Natasha purrs, wrapping an arm around Steve, “Don’t you think honey?”

“I’d say so, dear,” Steve agrees, planting a kiss on Natasha’s cheek.  The dealer looks visibly chagrined.

“Cute couple like yourselves,” he bites out, “You should check out the bar downstairs.  Cupid’s Bow.  Gets real hot about nine.”

“Sounds like fun.” 

* * *

 

Nine-fifteen, and Steve is sipping his first whiskey as a reformed citizen.  It’s shit.  He’s about to ask for a Coke to cut it with when Barton finally shows up.

“Aw, Nat,” Clint grumbles, dropping into the seat beside them, “Why you gotta be like that?”

“I’m sorry,” Natasha says, eyes wide, “Did you need something, Barney?”

“C’mon man,” Clint groans, “You know they’re not gonna hire an ex-con in one of these places.  Name change or game change.  I got a limited skill set.”

“You should put that skill set to better use,” Steve suggests mildly. 

“What did you have in mind?” Clint asks, “Assuming that’s why you’re here, and you didn’t just come to gloat over me wasting away in Atlantic City.”

“I wanted back up before he told me,” Natasha explains, sipping a tumbler of something clear.

“So there’ll be two of us to tell him how bat shit he is,” Clint guesses.  Natasha slides over the rest of her vodka in agreement, and Clint shoots it back.

 “I’m right here,” Steve reminds them, “And it’s not that bad.”

Clint waves the bartender down for another drink.

“You’d think two years inside would have made him a better liar,” he says to Natasha.

“That’s exactly what I’ve been saying.”

Steve rolls his eyes.  He’s never gonna make it to Vegas with these two.

 

* * *

 

Steve leans against the railing of their motel balcony.  His cigarette glows orange in the darkness.  A door opens and closes and Natasha joins him.  Her face is composed.  Mulling things over.

“Barton walking it off?” Steve asks, offering Natasha his lighter.  She waves him off.

“Barton doesn’t want to go back to prison,” she says.

Steve laughs.  “That makes two of us.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” Natasha points out, leaning against the balcony, “People don’t rob casinos.”

“Sure they do.”

“People don’t rob casinos and stay out of prison,” Natasha amends.

“You know it could work,” Steve points out, taking a drag, “Or you would have walked already.”

“We’d need a hell of a donor.”

Steve nods.

“Who do we know with a grudge _and_ that much loose change?”

Steve waits, blowing a long stream of smoke over the rail.

“Oh.”  Natasha’s eyes light up with realization.  “Fury.”


	4. 2015

“You’re out of your goddamned minds.”

Steve is sitting at Nick Fury’s breakfast table in the desert heat, staring down an untouched mimosa and a plate of muffins he’s almost sure were baked fresh that day just for them.

“Hear us out, Nick-“

“I could tell you the statistics,” Fury bulldozes, brandishing a gold plated fork, “But I don’t have to, because you know them.  If you’re _lucky_ , you’ll end up back in a jail cell, and not buried off some highway in the desert so a two bit Mafioso can prove how big his dick is to the boys back in Jersey.”

“I had a lot of time to think this over-“

“Natasha.”  Fury ignores Steve for the moment. “I like you.  I like you keeping an eye on Steve.  You’re supposed to be reining him in, not aiding and abetting the lunatic fantasies he cooked up from inside a jail cell.”

Fury returns to his omelet, a crisp white napkin guarding the lap of his Armani. Steve is fairly certain Nick Fury sleeps in a suit, or at least a black turtleneck.  He can’t imagine casual Friday.

Natasha peels the wrapper off a blueberry muffin, taking the criticism in stride.

“I think it could work, or I wouldn’t be here,” she says, “That must count for something.”

“’Could’ is an prominent word in that statement,” Fury points out around a bite of egg and cheese, “As opposed to ‘will’, or ‘definitely will’, which is the level of guarantee I need before I put funds behind a project.”

Steve sighs, sipping his lukewarm cocktail at last.  Natasha takes a chunk out of her pastry.

“Whatever happened to that boyfriend of yours?” Fury continues, “Always messing around with his gadgets.  He kept your head on straight, before the whole Lumerian fiasco.”

Natasha chews her mouthful with a cultivated air of nonchalance.  It’s still a point of contention between them. 

“I’ve been trying to figure that out myself,” Steve says, standing, “Thanks for your time, Nick.”

“Don’t mention it,” Fury waves them off, “Your uncle’s cousin was like a brother to me, or whatever it is that makes me take these meetings.”

Steve laughs, shaking Nick’s hand while Natasha collects her purse.  They head for the courtyard exit, stirring up heat waves in the dry air.  They’re at the edge of the tile patio when Nick calls after them.

“What backwater poker tent were you two gonna try and clean out, anyway?”

Steve stops walking.  He looks to Natasha.  Keeps the grin off his face. 

“What was it again?” Steve asks Natasha, “The Kraken?  The Serpent-“

“The Hydra.” Natasha corrects him, coy.  Fury’s silverware hits the table like a punctuation mark.

“That’s Alexander Pierce’s casino.”

“Is it?” Steve asks Natasha.  She nods.  “So it is.”

Fury’s napkin joins the silverware as he stands, breakfast forgotten.

“That son of a bitch,” Fury says, enunciating carefully, “Is the reason I have trust issues.”


	5. 2011

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pseudo science coming your way (seriously I'm making it up so just go with it)

“And you just stroke your fingers here…”

Steve lets Bucky drag his prints across the sensor pad and he jumps when the safe blinks green and pops open.

“Prints?” Steve asks, but Bucky shakes his head, beaming from his work bench. 

“Electromagnetic signature,” Bucky reveals, showing Steve a computer screen full of graphs, “Unique to every human being on the planet, and you can’t replicate it with a foam mold or brush powder and tape.”

Bucky points to different charts that reacted to Steve’s electric signature like they mean something.  And they do, but only to Bucky.  

Steve’s an analog guy.  Not Bucky.  Bucky reads Flash Gordon and sees all the ways he can make it real. 

If Steve is lucky Bucky will let him tag along when he makes it to the stars.

“I gotta couple a guys in phones who want to talk about using it for touch screens,” Bucky is telling him, “And security people are interested obviously, but I’m also thinking there’s probably some use for it in medicine and research as well.  We’ll see how it goes.”

“You’re amazing,” Steve says, dropping a kiss on Bucky’s metal shoulder, “I don’t know how you do it.”

“A little ‘a this and a little ‘a that,” Bucky demurs, tipping his head back for a real kiss Steve is too happy to give him.

“Sorry it doesn’t have any criminal applications,” Bucky says when they part.  It does, actually.  Steve can think of a million ways that tech could save his ass during a job, and a million and one ways it could make his life a living hell.  Unfortunately that’s what he’s good at. 

“I’m not,” is what Steve tells him, serious as a heart attack, “Sorry, I mean.  You make real things, for real people.  Don’t ever think I want you stuck in the shadows hotwiring safes for me.  You’re meant for the light, Buck.  I mean it.”

“I know you do,” Bucky says, grin teasing as looks up at Steve over the back of his chair, “Sap.”

Steve strokes his fingers through Bucky’s hair, getting longer every day. 

“So what happens now?” he asks, and Bucky’s off like a flash.

“Well first I gotta do more tests, make sure this thing won’t get set off by static electricity on some guys socks or whatever then it’s gonna be patents patents patents.  Gotta make sure no schmucks try and steal my genius ideas, Stevie, you know what I’m talking about…”


	6. 2015

“Who are you thinking?”

They’re in a restaurant too well lit to attract suspicion surrounded by people too drunk to bother eavesdropping.

“Well,” Natasha says, phone in one hand and a vodka in the other, “We need a hawk in the grass, a cowardly lion and a tinman, for sure.  We’ve already got a cat and a point man.”

“You and me,” Steve assumes, “Fury’s playing Midas.  Barton is our hawk?”

“Yup.”

“Great.  Who else is still around?”

“Banner.”

“Good.”

“Stark.”

“Howard?  I like him.”

“Howard’s retired.  I’m talking about Tony.  His kid.”

Steve winces.

“I know he’s not your favorite, but he’s the best.”

“Fine,” Steve agrees, “But only if Rhodey comes too.”

“No complaints here.” 

“We’re gonna need a chameleon.  Not Loki.”

“He’s still on the inside after that New Mexico fiasco,” Natasha informs him, “I hear he’s got a brother.  Just as good.  A lot less shifty.”

“I like the sound of that,” Steve agrees, “See if we can get a hold of him.  That’s seven.  Seven’s a good number.”

Natasha says nothing.

“You think we need one more?”

Natasha sips her vodka.

“You think we need one more.”

One eyebrow quirks.

“Alright.  What did you have in mind?”

“We need a flyboy,” Natasha decides, “Somebody quick.  Smart.  No ego.”

“Yeah,” Steve muses, “What about that guy from the thing.  Riley…something.  Riley. He was great.”

“He’s dead.” 

“No shit,” Steve exclaims, “On a job?”

“Car accident.”

“I can’t believe it.  Did you send flowers?”

“I dated his partner for a while,” Natasha informs him, “He’s very talented.”

“I’ll bet.”  Steve almost spills his drink when Natasha smacks him upside the head.

“At _tailing_ , dumbass,” Natasha says, cool as a cucumber, “Lifting, sliding, even some cham work.  Never seen anybody take to it like Sam Wilson.  Kid’s a natural.”

“Huh.”  Steve drains the rest of his scotch.  “I’ll check him out.  You know what else I think we need?” 

Natasha’s gaze goes flat.  “I can guess.”

“A wirebug,” Steve continues, “I know just the guy.  Best in the business.  And _you_ know where to find him.”

“Steve…”

“Where is he, Nat?” Steve pleads, “If you won’t tell me I’ll just take it to Google.”

“You won’t.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because I asked you not to.”

“So _tell_ me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because he asked _me_ not to,” Natasha bites out, and it’s the closest thing to a snap Steve’s ever been on the receiving end of from her, “You think I’ve got him hidden in a closet somewhere, just to keep up the suspense?  There’s a reason he wasn’t waiting for you in Jersey, and you need to trust me when I say leave it alone until this job is done.”

Steve realizes he’s white knuckling his tumbler.  He puts the empty glass down.

“I’m sorry,” he says, deflated, “I…miss him.”

Natasha rests her hand on top of his where it’s still wrapped around his glass.

“Go to D.C.,” she says, “Talk to Wilson.  I’ll get the rest of the guys together and meet you at Fury’s.”

Steve nods. 

“One thing at a time, Steve.”


	7. 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record I don't actually know anything about the DC metro system.

Washington has a pretty good public transit system.  Not as iconic as the New York metro, but it’s functional.  Gets a little crowded at rush hour though. 

Steve manages to snag a corner handhold in a stuffed train car.  He widens his stance for balance and settles in for the show. 

Even with Steve’s resume, it takes him a minute to spot Wilson, though he followed him into this car in the first place.  In running gear and ragged ball cap he coulda been any Capitol Hill staffer out for a morning run around the Mall.  A nondescript messenger bag makes him just bulky enough not to throw any red flags when he gets “jostled” by the rocking car.

He’s handsome.  Attractive, if Steve’s being honest with himself.  Not enough to make a difference, of course.  Steve’s off the market, one way or the other.

They’re rattling around a curve, right before the Archives stop.  Wilson adjusts his grip on the hanging strap.  There’s a jarring shift and he nearly loses his footing, grabbing the bicep of the young professional in front of him.  There’s a brief exchange of apologies and it’s forgotten, just another normal encounter on public transport.  Only Steve sees the wallet slip into Wilson’s track pants.  And he’s spent a long time learning what to look for.

He’s clean.  Almost perfect.  But as the car sidles into the station Wilson moves towards the door, right past Steve. 

It’s the barest brush of his hand, at least to any onlookers.  But Steve disembarks with a fat leather wallet in his pocket, and Sam Wilson with a note in his.

Steve follows him for a couple of blocks.  Sam is too good to check his pull right away. 

When Sam freezes, Steve stops, waiting at a Starbucks on the corner.  Wilson turns, eyes scanning the block.  Message received. 

Steve waves the leather wallet for Sam to see, keeping his posture neutral. 

“Nice grab,” he says when Wilson approaches, handing the wallet back, “Steve Rogers.”

“Yeah, I kinda put that together,” Sam says with a friendly smile and a suspicious gaze, “Sam Wilson.  Natasha told me about you.”

“Then you know I’m here for a good reason,” Steve replies, “Lemme buy you a coffee?”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s strange to see his own name written on the side of a coffee cup, Steve muses while he and Sam settle in to an empty table in the corner.

 _Steve_ , with a little smile.  Steve gave it to the barista without a second thought, as though his name recorded in the wrong state couldn’t send him straight back inside.

Steve shakes it off and tries to enjoy his latte before the foam melts.  Real people don’t have to worry about things like that.

How the other half lives.

“So,” Steve observes, indicating Sam’s Air Force sweatshirt and well loved messenger bag, “You’re living pretty simple for a guy who came into thirty million dollars less than a year ago.”

Sam doesn’t bother to ask how Steve knows that information, which says good things.  He may be green, but Sam Wilson isn’t stupid. 

“Is that the number people are saying now?” he asks, shaking his head.  Steve shrugs. 

“Riley was a talented guy.  A lotta people liked working with him too,” Steve says, “So what’d you do with the money?”

He knows already.  Steve just wants to hear what Wilson has to say about it.

“Maybe I burned through it,” Sam suggests, sipping a black coffee. 

“You’re not wearing anywhere near enough Prada for me to believe that,” Steve responds, which makes Sam laugh.

“Donated it,” Sam admits eventually, shrugging, “Wounded Warriors, Fallen Heroes Fund, stuff like that.  Split it up enough so it could go through anonymously without a fuss.”

“You must be pretty connected to the cause,” Steve ventures.

“Riley and I had…shared experiences.  Seemed like a worthwhile place to drop the extra money.”

“That’s quite a tax write off.”

Sam laughs, a genuine chuckle, before quieting.

“Look,” he says at last, “I won’t pretend I’m some kind of Robin Hood type.  I wasn’t happy to get rich of my wingman going too soon, that’s all.  So I paid off a few debts, and made sure the rest got into the right hands.  I can take care of myself.  I let Riley’s money take care of a few other people.”

Steve nods, raising his latte in a salute. 

“So,” he begins again, “Sam Wilson.  Are you outta the game?”

Sam hums.  “I’m not really sure I was ever in the game to begin with.  Don’t know if I’m cut out for the high stakes life.”

Steve nods again, ready to leave with no hard feelings.

“But lifting wallets off Georgetown nobodies…”

Steve grins.  “Starting to get a little mundane?”

“Who knows?” Sam says, shaking Steve’s hand, “Maybe it’s time to get back in.”


	8. 2015

Steve and Sam are in a car on their way to Nick’s when he gets the call.

“Natasha.”

“I’ve had a minor setback.”  Natasha sounds irritated, but not overly distressed.  “You have time to play cops and robbers?”

“Can do,” Steve replies, “I’ve got Sam.  Who are we picking up?”

“The dynamic duo.”

Steve drags his hand through his hair. 

“Why am I not surprised?” 

* * *

 

 

The street outside the bank is a total shit show.  Cops, a fire truck.  Steve is pretty sure he sees an actual bomb squad waiting in their black van.  Everything is flashing lights and wailing sirens.

“What the hell,” he directs at Natasha.  It’s not even a question. 

“Tell me about it,” she says, before perking up, “There they are.”

A side door opens and two officers emerge, leading Tony and Rhodey none too gently from their heist gone wrong. 

“At least they’re together,” Steve observes, rolling his shoulders under his cheap suit, “Ready, Agent?”

“Ready, agent,” Natasha replies, and they’re off, stepping carelessly through the chaos to reach the two unfortunate burglars.  Stark and Rhodes are cuffed, still in their safecracking gear.

“Well if it isn’t Mulder and Scully,” Tony declares when they approach, looking mighty smug for a guy in handcuffs.  Rhodey at least has the grace to look grateful for Steve and Natasha’s appearance.

“Anthony Stark and James Rhodes,” Steve intones, holding up his badge for the budget cops, “AKA ‘Tony and Terrence’ AKA ‘The MIT Two’.  We meet again.”

Natasha flashes her badge with equal grace. “We’ve been following you boys a long time.”

“These two have been causing havoc across state lines for a while,” Steve informs the officers, “The Bureau will take it from here.”

The small town officers are clearly off balance.  Drive forty minutes out of Vegas and nobody’s ready for a bank robbery.  Toss in the fake badges and they’re deer in headlights. 

“Grant, get these two in the car,” Natasha orders Steve, “And you two, I’m gonna need a meeting with Lee and Kirby in the next twenty minutes if we want to get these two on federal charges.”

“Who?” one of the officers asks. 

“Just go find them!” Natasha barks, and Steve smacks Tony upside the head to keep him from giggling as the officers scramble. 

They manage to clear the tapeline before anyone realizes they’re gone.

“Nice to see you on the outside, Steve,” Rhodey says once they’re out of earshot, “And Nat, pleasure as always.”

“Yeah,” Tony chimes in, “The top two people on my fantasy handcuffs list-“

This time Nat gets to smack Tony.

“So I’m guessing things got a little off track on this one,” Steve ventures as they near the car. 

“We had a last minute logistics issue,” Rhodey explains. 

“That can happen when your alarm guy turns out to be a narc,” Natasha says mildly. 

“Well _somebody_ thought Hammer was a young up and comer who deserved a shot-”

“Let it _go_ , Tony!”

“We’ve got a better opportunity lined up,” Steve offers, “Reliable crew.”

“We’re all ears.”


	9. 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE

Fury is waiting at the door when Steve finally gets everybody out of handcuffs and back to the rendezvous.  Natasha drove ahead with Sam, so Steve, Tony, and Rhodey are the last to arrive.

“I’ve got the rest set up in the living room,” Nick says, letting them in after they’ve all taken their shoes off.

“Everybody here?” Steve asks. 

“Everybody and their brother, seems like.” 

The room does seem crowded when Steve arrives.  It’s mostly familiar faces.  Clint made it from Jersey, laughing and signing rapidly with Natasha, no doubt hearing about the mess they just cleaned up at the bank.  Tony is telling his version, with the occasional footnote from Rhodey, to a blonde giant who must be Thor.  In a room full of people used to disappearing, he catches the eye, that’s for damn sure, but that’s exactly why they need him.  So.

On the opposite end of that spectrum is Bruce, who has some gray in his hair now, though his nerves are looking better than the last time Steve saw him.  Six months in an institution will do that for a guy, it turns out.  Sam hovers at the edge of the group, quiet, but not awkward.  Looking and learning.  And that’s exactly why they need him.  So.

Chatter dies down when Steve gets to the front of the room.

“Gentlemen.”  Natasha joins him, handing Steve the remote to the screen behind him.  “Welcome.  I hope you’ve had enough to drink, because I have a business venture I’d like you all to be involved in.  It has the potential to be very lucrative, and very dangerous.  If anyone would like to leave, do it now.”

Silence.

“Alright then.”

The press of a button reveals a street map of Alexander Pierce’s place of business.

“This is the Hydra,” Steve continues, “Occupying nearly a full block of the strip, it’s one of the cities wealthiest casinos.  It’s known mostly for its opulence, and its owner.”

Muttering.  Everyone in the business knows Alexander Pierce. 

“Pierce has a lot of irons in the fire,” Natasha says, “Some of more questionable taste than others, but they all make money, and all that money goes through the Hydra.”

“Which last I checked is pretty well guarded,” Bruce points out, and a few heads nod in agreement. 

“You’re right,” Steve agrees, “With Pierce, more is more, and he has the ex-military security team to prove it.  But we’re not going to give him the chance to use it.”

“We’re going to get in and clean him out without Pierce knowing he’s been robbed until it’s too late,” Natasha concludes.

“So just your basic smash and grab, then,” Sam says from the back of the room. 

“It’ll be a bit more complicated than that,” Natasha says, arch.

“Well, yeah-“

“The biggest obstacle, and what we’re least able to prepare for,” Steve says over him, “Is the vault itself.  It’ll be one thing to get Natasha in, and prepare for exit, but opening the main hatch to meet the extraction team is going to be murky at best.”

There’s a general wince when Steve and Natasha pull up the schematic of the Hydra vault.  It is a thing of beauty, in a thieves-are-shit-out-of-luck kind of way.

“We know Pierce is in bed with Silicon Valley resources,” Natasha continues, “And he’s got the funds to be paranoid.  We won’t know what lock we have to crack until we get there, so infiltration is going to be key.”

Something about Natasha’s phrasing makes Steve frown, but he shrugs off the errant thought.  Stick to the script in front of the crew, Rogers.

“Infiltration,” he repeats, “Is going to happen in two phases.  Short work-“ Steve points to Sam, Bruce, and Natasha-“With specific targets.  Get in, get out, stay off Pierce’s radar.  Then we have Thor.”

“At your service, friends.”  Thor toasts them with his vodka tonic from the sofa he’s currently occupying most of.

“We’re going to set you up as a whale,” Steve reveals, “You’re going to be our eyes and ears from within the house, with access to all VIP spaces, and likely even Pierce himself.  We’re going to be looking to you for security patterns, guest information, and any staff intel you can gather, all under the guise of a foreign heir on vacation.”

“My kind of job,” Thor agrees, lighting up, “Would you prefer Australian party boy or stern Nordic high roller?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

“Excellent.”

“Some guys have all the luck,” Tony mutters.

“Tony and Rhodey, you’re running tech and electrics.”

“Shocker.”

“Barton is handling transportation and logistics.”

Clint pumps his fist.

“And Nick,” Steve concludes, “Is our sugar daddy.  So everyone be sure to give him a big kiss on the way out.”

There’s a smattering of laughter, though a few are still eyeing the projected vault map nervously.

“I think we’re forgetting an important detail, here,” Tony pipes up.

“Shoot.”

“What’s the take?” Tony asks, “After taxes, of course.”

That gets another laugh, but everyone’s waiting to hear Steve’s answer.  He glances at Natasha, who smirks.

“Eight figures each,” he reveals.

Silence. 

“Well,” Rhodey says after a beat, “I for one am looking forward to working with you, Rogers.”

“Same here,” Bruce says, toasting them with his green tea.

“And I,” Thor rumbles.  The others are more or less in agreement, dollar signs in their eyes. 

“Alright, then,” Steve says, “Let’s get the ball rolling.”


	10. 2015

“Bruce is in,” Natasha lets Steve know as he comes in the door with take-out Chinese and a thirty dollar bottle of wine.  They’re two days in.  Sam is off tailing Pierce, or trying anyway, and Tony and Rhodey are currently about twelve feet underground, calculating how much dynamite it’s going to take to knock out power at the Hydra without bringing the whole building down. 

“Nice,” Steve says, joining Natasha on the monitors, “How is he?”

“He’s a wreck,” Natasha puts bluntly, “But he’s getting the job done.”

Getting eyes and ears on the vault means getting wired in to Hydra’s camera feeds, and that means getting Bruce into the control room.  It’s a relatively short con, a stolen technician’s badge and a uniform for Banner, and a chance for Thor to dip his toes in the water and establish his party-boy high roller.  He’s holding court on the gambling floor with a girl from the MGM Grand floor show on each arm, their comically large pink feather headdresses conveniently blocking the camera that would alert security that Bruce’s face doesn’t match the ID that just unlocked the security door.

Bruce has exactly the right anxiety level to pass as a low level IT maintenance worker employed by a powerful man who doesn’t like to be disappointed.  He gets in, attaches the right wires in the right places, and gets out.  Like Natasha says, he gets the job done, give or take a sweat soaked uniform and a forgotten ID badge.

Now they have eyes on Hydra.

“Well.”

Natasha blows her bangs out of her eyes.

“Yeah.”

The door to their suite beeps, announcing another visitor, but it’s just Clint.

“I got the vans,” he announces.

“How did you-“

“Don’t ask.  Let’s just say there’s a car dealership I can never go back to.”  Clint tosses Steve a few pairs of keys to go in the lock box and drops onto the couch next to Natasha.

“Is there any kung pow chicken left?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case anybody's wondering, Thor's id is basically Chris Hemsworth from the AOU press tour, if Hemsworth weren't an adorable family man and did a lot more recreational drugs. There's that image for you.


	11. 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter we've all been waiting for...

It might be running on blood money, but for all appearances the Hydra is a classy joint.  Steve and Natasha meet up with Sam at an Asian bistro on the first floor, tucked just behind a massive marble staircase with a good view of the front entrance.  They watch Thor pass by in full character with Clint playing bodyguard.  Having enjoyed his trial weekend, their fake cattle ranch heir is back to spend the rest of his spring break in one of Hydra’s luxury villas.  Thank god for Fury’s deep pockets.

“So,” Steve says once Thor is safely checked in, “Tell me about Pierce.”

Sam shakes his head.  “The man is a machine.”

“We know that,” Natasha points out, offering Steve a dumpling, “You got anything we don’t know?”

“His operation is air tight,” Sam replies, “The man _lives_ for order.  Well, order and security.  The man walks onto the floor at the exact same time every day, and I still don’t even know for sure what model of car he takes to get here.”

 “Just tell us what you can.”

“He knows every employee who crosses his path by name,” Sam tells them, “So don’t try to plant a valet, or a waiter, unless it’s gonna be one hell of a long con.”

“Noted.”

“He’s in his office every day at three, then on the floor at seven for a meeting with his manager.  If there’s an issue he handles it personally, and if it’s an issue he doesn’t want to be seen handling he’s got a lot of men in black to handle it for him.”

“He likes control,” Natasha confirms, nodding. 

“Yup,” Sam continues, “At eight-fifteen he heads for the second floor restaurant, where there’s an assistant waiting to hand him a folder with the days take, and the new security codes for the cash cages, which as far as I can gather are changed every twenty four hours.  Then he has dinner.”

“Who does he eat with?”  Steve asks, “A guy like Pierce, there’s gotta be a trophy.  Or a mistress.”

“There is someone,” Sam agrees, “But I haven’t been able get a lot of background.  I don’t know if he’ll be useful or not.”

“He?” 

Natasha is looking far too studiously at her menu considering they’ve been here for forty minutes and they already ate.

Sam purses his lips.  “I know, right?” he agrees, “Pierce doesn’t exactly seem the LGBT friendly type, but here’s this young, male-model looking guy showing up every night at eight for a candle lit dinner and drinks.  They aren’t much for PDA, but I can tell a boyfriend from a business associate, and this is definitely the former.”      

“That’s interesting,” Steve murmurs, mulling it over their options. 

“He’s in technology, I gather.  One of those young moguls,” Sam explains, though Steve is only half paying attention, “He’s got the cool robot arm to prove it, which I gotta admit is a pretty serious commitment to an aesthetic.”

Steve’s head snaps up.  “What?”

“His left arm’s a prosthetic.  Guess he collaborated on it with some famous Russian physicist who’s dead now.  I saw a special about him in _Wired_ magazine on the train home, or I wouldn’t even know that much,” Sam explains, “He doesn’t talk much, but I hear Pierce call him-“

“James,” Steve finishes for him, “James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Yeah,” Sam confirms, frowning at Steve’s tone, “And he should be getting here…right now.”

Natasha drags a decorative botanical screen in front of their table just before the sliding glass doors part, but Steve sees enough.  Sun tanned skin and a full red mouth.  A glint of steel beneath a crisp suit.  Chestnut hair, full and thick, long enough now to be tied back. 

Bucky walks past their hiding place and up the marble staircase while Steve holds his breath. 

It’s been almost two and a half years.

Natasha won’t look at him, and Sam seems to have figured out this is something beyond the parameters of his task.  He gets up, and leaves Steve to do his best to not glare at his right hand woman.

“You knew about this.” 

Natasha doesn’t deny it.  Steve takes a deep breath.  Stands.

“We’ll talk about it later.” 

Steve heads up the stairs and follows his fiancé into the restaurant.


	12. 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a sweet flashback before the suffering :))))

“Bucky.”

“Steve.”

It’s the Fourth of July.  Steve’s birthday.  Bucky just finished up a round of patents and Steve is getting ready for one last job before they both go straight for good.  They’re celebrating.  

“What if the two of us got married?”

Fireworks throw Bucky’s expression into bright reds and blues.  Steve wants to take him home right now.  Make love until the sun rises.

“You askin’, Rogers?”

“I think maybe I’m askin’ if I  _ can _ ask.”

“You can ask.”

“Okay.”

“So.   _ Ask _ .”

“Okay, okay,” Steve laughs, tipping back the last of his champagne.  He pulls Bucky close, close enough to watch the sparklers reflect in his sharp blue eyes.  God, he is gonna spend every day of the rest of his life with this man.

“Will you marry me, Buck?”

Bucky grins, flicking his hair out of his eyes before pulling Steve down the spare inch between them and kissing him long and deep.  

“Is that a yes?” Steve asks, when they finally part.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, “Yes.  Absolutely, Steven Grant Rogers, I will marry you.”

Their celebration lasts long after the fireworks are over.


	13. 2015

Bucky’s seated at the owner’s table.  His half empty glass tells Steve he’s used to being patient.  There's a strangely decorative quality to the whole set up.  Prime seating.  Expensive suit.  Beautiful guy.  Pierce wants the whole place to know what he’s got waiting for him.

It's a public enough space that no one tries to stop him from walking through, though Steve has no doubt there’s a well trained and polite security team ready to intervene at a moment’s notice.

Steve is close enough to catch a trace of Bucky’s cologne.  It's not what he used to wear. He doesn't try to touch him, but of course Buck knows there’s someone approaching.  Hyper vigilance, his therapist had called it, after the accident.  

“Alex,” Bucky’s still focused on his wine glass, “You're late.  I was about to send out a search-“

Bucky finally looks up, and his grey eyes go round as dinner plates.  He hasn’t changed a bit.  He still takes Steve’s breath away.

“Steve.”

“Hey, Buck.”  

For a moment Bucky’s eyes are filled with tears, but he blinks and they’re gone.  He clenches his jaw.

“You can’t be here.”  

“I didn’t know you were here,” Steve says, “Nat wouldn’t tell me where you were.”

“Because I asked her not to.”

Steve pulls out the chair no doubt meant for Pierce.

“Don’t sit-”

“What's going on Buck?”

“We can't be seen together,” Bucky says, staring at his empty plate, “I have a real business now.  I pay taxes.  I’m soluble.  I don't want to be associated with criminals.”

Steve lets the slight roll off him. That delivery was too polished.  There's something else at play here.

“If you were actually worried about that you wouldn't be eating dinner with Alexander Pierce.  So I'll ask again: what's going on?”

“You got put away,” Bucky says, blunt, “Some things came up.  I'm dealing with them.”

“You're  _ dealing _ with a dangerous man.”  Steve doesn't soften the euphemism.  

“Believe me, I know.”  

“Help me understand.”

“It's not your business anymore.”  That hurts.  Steve has no one to blame but himself for it.  When Steve opens his eyes Bucky is staring.  His expression is one of bare longing, tempered with resignation.

“I can’t leave him, Steve.”  His voice is quiet in the busy restaurant, but Steve can read the shape of his lips.

“Of course you can, Buck-“

“Steve.”  Bucky pushes his right sleeve up the barest inch, but Steve can see the bruises.  “I  _ can’t _ .”

Steve’s mouth hangs open.  He can’t find any words past the red haze of rage fogging his brain.  

“Don’t make a scene here,” Bucky whispers urgently.

“Why?”

“There’s people here-“

“No, why  _ Pierce _ ?”

“My arm.”

“Yeah, I can see that-“

“No,” Bucky shakes his head exasperated, “My _left_ arm.  It’s been deteriorating.  Like radioactive deteriorating.  Alex has the resources to maintain it, but I have to…earn it.”

Steve thinks he might be sick.  “But-your company.  All your patents.  You must be stable enough to afford-”

“I’ve got the money,” Bucky spits, bitter, “But Alex has the  _ power _ .  You think I  _ decided _ to become some old man’s ornament?  He wanted me.  He made three phone calls and I was his.  He just had to corner the market on a certain compound.”

“How long?” 

“About a year.”

Steve will never forgive himself.

“Why didn’t Natasha- _ anybody  _ from the old crowd-”

Bucky sighs.  “She'd only be in danger too.  Seeing  _ anyone _ I care about puts them in danger as long as I'm with Pierce.”

Steve wants to reach for Bucky’s hand, but Bucky is already pulling away.

“Steve, you have to go,” He says again, “Please.”

“I won’t leave you here.”  

“If I embarrass him in public he’ll make me regret it in private,” Bucky breathes, too low for others in the restaurant to hear, “And I can’t leave until he lets me do the maintenance on my arm.” 

Steve is ready to dig his heels in, except for the bald look of dread on Bucky’s face.

“He’ll already know you were here,” Bucky says, “Alex always knows.  Go, before you make it worse.”

“Buck-”

“You went to jail, Steve.”  Bucky’s tone is flat again.  Anyone looking on would think they were talking about the weather.  Only Steve can see the grief in Bucky’s gaze.  “This is me surviving.  Alone.  Please leave.”

Now that the rose colored glasses are off Steve can see that Bucky  _ has _ changed.  He’s gotten thinner, and there are circles under his eyes that run deeper than the frenetic all nighters Steve remembers from their shared apartment, when sleep came second to a new idea.  Bucky has changed, not by his own will and not for the better.  

“I’m going to make this right,” Steve promises, standing.  Bucky’s eyes fall back to his plate.  

It takes everything Steve has to walk away.  It takes everything he has to wait until he’s out of the casino to read the note he felt Bucky slip into his pocket as he passed by. 

_ Keep your phone on.  Hope you haven’t changed your number. _


	14. 2015

“How is he?” Natasha asks when Steve returns to their suite.

“He’s being threatened with radiation poisoning unless he agrees to trade sexual favors with a crime lord nearly twice his age.”  

Steve immediately regrets putting Bucky’s situation into words.  Natasha must see him sway on his feet, because she tugs him out of his suit jacket and sits him down, thrusting her half finished vodka into his hand and topping it off.  Steve knocks it back and lets her fill the glass again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”  

“For this exact reason.”

“How could you leave him there?” Steve asks, “How could you know, and-and let him-”

“I like being alive,” Natasha says, blunt as usual, “We don’t have the resources to take on Pierce without compromising that.  After this job we will, and Pierce will already be limping.”

The vodka is doing its job.  “...I was supposed to take care of him.”

“You couldn’t take care of him from prison.  It is what it is,” Natasha says, “James is tough.  He’s surviving.  The best thing right now is for you to do the same.”  

“Stick to the plan,” Steve murmurs.  Natasha nods.

“Stick to the plan,” she repeats, and her eyes flash.  Bucky is her friend, and through his anger Steve knows she didn’t leave him in Pierce’s clutches lightly.

“We’re gonna gut the son of a bitch.” 


	15. 2015

“The tricky part is going to be knocking out the power to enough buildings that it doesn’t look targeted, without damaging any grids permanently or, you know, blacking out a hospital or something…”

Steve is checking in on Stark and Rhodey when his phone buzzes in his pocket.  

_ Unknown Number: Where are you staying? _

Steve pauses over his touch screen.  It’s not Bucky’s old number, but it’s been two years.  He’s probably changed it.  Or Pierce keeps an eye on his phone, so Bucky’s using a fake.  Either way, if Bucky wants a digital message private, it’s gonna stay private.  That’s his field, and Bucky’s the best.

_ Steve Rogers: The Philadelphia.  Room 616. _

_ Unknown Number:  Stay in tomorrow night.  10:00. _

“Oh, sorry, am I boring you?” Tony interjects, “We’re only here trying to create an electromagnetic bomb big enough to knock out all the power in Vegas.  Please, by all means go back to playing Candy Crush.”

“Easy Tony,” Rhodey pipes up from under the skeleton of their device where he’s soldering a complicated mesh of wires into place.

“All I’m saying is a few minutes of undivided attention would be nice-”

“Sorry fellas,” Steve says, typing out  _ I’ll be there _ before putting his phone away, “Please continue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know, in retrospect, nobody in Ocean's eleven actually used a cell phone. oh well.


	16. 2015

They build a replica of the Hydra vault.  Perfectly to scale, down to the last gold filigree tile.

It’s for practice.  Among other things.

This is Natasha’s moment to shine.  They’re going to wheel her into the vault, folded up neatly  _ inside _ one of the bullion carts.  Then she has to disable the inner security system.  They’re handling the security cameras, but that leaves motion sensors, pressure pads, and the live guards outside the vault, listening for any unusual sounds or movement.  

Most of the guys are here to see the dry run.  

Natasha’s already out of her hiding place.  She slid out of the two by four by eighteen inch space like she was rolling out of bed, and is perched gracefully on top.

“Alright Nat,” Steve calls from outside the set, “You know the drill.  Ten feet from the entrance point, you’ve got to make it without touching the floor.”

“Ten dollars says she can’t make it,” Stark mutters out of her earshot.  A few more voices chime in.  Steve keeps his face bland, and lets them place their bets.  Natasha throws him a little salute, lips quirked, and then does an effortless flip off the cart, landing on the top lip of the door in a comfortable sit, as if she’d been there the whole time.  

There’s a number of groans from the group, then reluctant applause.  

“How much do they owe me?” Natasha calls from inside the false vault.

“I counted at least fifty,” Steve replies.  Another chorus of groans.

Natasha crosses her ankles and grins like a shark.


	17. 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one goes out to all the folks who came back to this fic even though i abandoned it for a year. <3333

9:58.

The suite is empty, and there’s nothing sensitive on display.  Bucky will be here soon.  Either him, or a team of Pierce’s goons here to permanently rearrange Steve’s face.  Steve is choosing to stay optimistic.  Cautious,  but optimistic.

Natasha is gone for the night.  She has her own room, when she doesn’t share with Clint.  They only spend so much time in Steve’s suite because it doubles as their base of operations.  Steve prays nobody decides to drop in and talk business.

At ten o’clock on the dot there’s a knock at the door.  Steve checks.  It’s Bucky, looking perfect, and anxious as hell.  He lets him in and closes the door, checking first to make sure no one is lurking out in the hall.  

Bucky leans against the door once it’s shut.  His eyes are on Steve.  Tracing the lines of him, now that he’s allowed.  Now that there’s no one else watching. 

He’s dressed to go out.  Black shirt, designer jeans.  A leather jacket Bucky could never have afforded when he lived with Steve.  

“I made it look like I was headed for a club,” he explains, “Went in, took some pictures.  Slipped out the back so I could dodge his security.”

Buck doesn’t specify who  _ he  _ is.  Steve feels like saying the name out loud would shatter something fragile.

“You look good.”

Bucky smirks, but it’s empty.  Self-aware.  “No, I don’t.”

Steve reaches out.  Pauses.  

“Can I-” Does he even deserve it? “Can I touch you?”

Bucky takes his hand.  Kisses it.  Pulls it against his chest, over his heart.  Lets it slide up to cup the side of his neck.

Relief crashes through Steve like a wave.  He rests their foreheads together.  Feels the warm puff of Bucky’s breath against his lips.

“I missed you so much.”

“I was gonna wait,” Bucky breathes, “I woulda waited  _ forever _ Stevie-you gotta know-“

“I'm so sorry.”  Steve clasps Bucky’s face in his hands.  Gets his fingers in that beautiful thick hair.  “I'm so sorry I left you.  I’m so sorry you had to make those choices alone.”

“I love you.”  They're both close to crying.  Shaking with it against the door to the suite.  “I love you so much-Steve-”

A kiss.  The taste of him on Steve’s lips.  He’s gone so long without.  

“Buck-” Bucky pulls him back down and Steve lets the words go so they can go on kissing instead.

Jackets come off.  Hands roam.  Lips part.  No more talking.  Steve needs Bucky inside him  _ yesterday _ .

“C’mon,” Steve urges, shuffling them both over to the bed.  They shed clothes haphazardly on the way, both loathe to stop touching even for the few seconds it takes to strip off a shirt.  Steve guides Bucky down, gentle, dragging his lips down Bucky’s throat with an unrestrained groan.

“Don’t-” Bucky pulls him closer, dragging them flush, shoulder to hip. “-no marks.  We can’t-”

“Okay.”  It hurts, but Steve will take what he can get.  Bucky is pressed against his hip, hard, and Steve needs him so bad.  “Okay.”

Bucky’s hands are all over his skin, down his back, into his boxers-

“Oh.”  Bucky’s breath all goes out in a rush when he feels the slick openness at his fingertips.  “Steve.  You’re ready for me.” 

“I didn't know how much time we’d have,” Steve says, arching back into Bucky’s fingers, “I need you.”

Bucky pushes Steve onto his back with a growl.  Tugs off the rest of their clothes with shaking hands.

“You gonna do me right, Buck?” Steve pants, “Gonna fuck me good?”

Bucky hefts Steve’s thighs over his shoulders, near bending him in half as he slicks himself up.  Steve had the Astroglide waiting under the pillow, where they always kept it.  Bucky plants his hands, flesh and metal, on either side of Steve’s head, dipping down to brush a kiss against his slack lips.  

“Yeah,” Bucky promises, kissing Steve one more time before lining himself up and pushing in.  

It’s been too long.  The stretch is a painful adjustment but-

“Oh  _ god,  _ Steve _ yes-“ _

“Give it to me, Buck.  Give it to me so good-“

He’s home.  Steve is with the man he loves, and the only thing that matters right now is them.  Where they’re connected, where they touch, where Bucky’s mouth is red and sloppy and desperate against his.

They finish together.  Both too soon, but hell.  It’s been a rough couple of years.

Bucky slips out of him, and for a few minutes they just breathe together, Bucky’s face tucked against his shoulder.  

It’s almost surreal, with the reality that waits for them outside.  They’re both raw.

Steve catches Bucky’s wrist, the one with the bruises.  They’re already fading to soft greens and yellows.  He kisses each one, a circle around Bucky’s forearm.  A handprint Steve wishes he could have prevented.  

“Are there more?”

“Not that you can see.”

“I’m gonna get you out, Buck,” Steve whispers into Bucky’s soft hair, “I swear, baby.”  

“Why did you have to leave?”  Bucky whimpers into Steve’s neck, “Why did you let ‘em take you away?”

“Pride.  My stupid fucking pride.”  Steve will never be able to make that right.  One last job, he'd promised.  One last job that turned into twenty-seven months in the freezer and his best guy on his own when his metal arm decided to go Chernobyl.  “I should have listened to you.”

Bucky doesn’t reply.  What’s done is done.

“I don’t know how to even start asking you to forgive me.”

Bucky leans up on one elbow.  

“I’m mad,” he tells him, stroking his metal fingers through Steve’s hair, “I am so mad at you, Steve, I could spit.  I swear.”

“But?”  Steve doesn’t even deserve that one syllable of interjection.

“But I love you.”  Bucky smiles at him, eyes red rimmed.  He nestles himself back into Steve’s arms, head pillowed on Steve’s chest, and breathes deep.  “I missed you so bad.”

All Steve can do is hold him tight.  He’s gonna have to let him go in the morning.

“Same here, Buck,” Steve breathes, “Same here.”


	18. 2015

Natasha lets herself in to Steve’s room at seven AM, and doesn’t bother knocking.

“Steve, we’ve got a problem-“ she begins, before she sees Bucky still wrapped in Steve’s sheets and pulls up short.  She looks at Steve in flat disbelief.  

“Well, now we have  _ two _ problems.”

* * *

 

Natasha gives them a few minutes to say goodbye, at least.  Steve can feel Bucky staring as they pull their clothes back on.  Steve walks him to the door.  Bucky puts a hand on his arm.

“Natasha is here.”  Bucky isn’t stupid.

“She’s a good friend.”  

“You’re here for a job.”  Steve won’t lie to him.  He nods.

“Pierce?”  

“He has a lot to answer for.”

“Don’t do it if it’s because of me,” Bucky warns him, “Revenge jobs never work.  You know that.”

“I know,” Steve promises, “I didn’t plan it this way.  Natasha didn’t tell me you were here.  I wasn’t lying.”

“I can help,” Bucky offers. 

“The less you know the safer you are,” Steve says, “Just be ready.”

They kiss.  

“I trust you,” Bucky whispers.  

“Protect yourself,” Steve orders, “Whatever it takes Buck.  I’ll come for you.  Just be safe.”

They kiss one more time, and then Bucky’s gone.  

Back into the lion’s den.

* * *

 

“So what’s the  _ other  _ problem?”   They’re at Fury’s, with Bruce, Sam, and the man himself.  It’s his money Steve’s jeopardizing, after all.

Bruce is visibly uncomfortable.  “Well,” he says, “Technically it’s all the same problem.  You’ve been red flagged.”

“At the Hydra?” Steve guesses.  Bruce nods.  

“They’ve got your picture, your records, your history with Barnes,” he explains, “The minute you walk onto the floor, all eyes are gonna be on you.  That’s if they don’t stop you at the door, period.”

Natasha sighs.

“Steve.” She sinks onto the sofa.  “You’re out.”

“Nat, we can’t leave him in there, he’s-“

“I know,” Natasha cuts him off, “But that’s a separate job.  We’ve got to pull off this gig before we can do the next one, and you’re already on the next one.”

“This isn’t your call to make.”

“You made it my call,” Natasha informs him, “You’re more worried about Bucky than getting the rest of us killed, and I like being alive, Steve.  You’re out.”

Nobody is disagreeing with her.  

“I had hoped that scene in the restaurant wouldn’t sting you,” Natasha says, almost gentle, “But it did.  You’re on Pierce’s radar.  You’re a liability to the whole operation.”

“Who’s going to take care of the exterior codes?” Steve snaps, “And the elevator shaft.”

“Sam’s up for it.”  Natasha looks at Sam. “Right?”

Sam looks genuinely torn.  Steve feels a little bad.  “I can do it, yeah,” he says at last.

“Start the phone tree, then,” Natasha orders, “Let the guys know about the change in plan.”

“Nat-”

“I called you a cab.” Her words are final.  “I’ll walk you out.”

* * *

 

“I think that was pretty convincing,” Steve says once they’re out on the front walk.

“That’s my job,” Natasha replies, “It still doesn’t mean I’m thrilled with the change in plans.”

They’d hashed it out on the cab ride over.  Steve being on Pierce’s watchlist actually works in their favor, but the rest of the crew probably wouldn’t take kindly to taking on the extra risk, even to save Bucky, so a little white lie was necessary.  

“It’s all for him,” Steve murmurs.  Natasha offers him a half smile.  

“That’s why I’m still here,” she says.


	19. 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last flashback, AKA "What could possibly go wrong?"

“Don’t go.”

“I’ve already seen the plans, Buck.  I’m in it whether I want to or not.”

Steve’s getting ready to leave their apartment, double checking his suitcase for his toothbrush and deodorant.  It should be a short visit to Reno.  He’s staying at the Lumerian Hotel, which has a historical reputation to match it’s outdated, some might even say  _ vulnerable _ , security system.  

“You don’t know Rumlow and you don’t know his crew,” Bucky insists, “I don’t like it.”

“It’s low risk and good money-”

“Yeah,” Bucky spits, “That’s what it’s about.  The  _ money _ .  ’Cause you got nothing to prove.”

“One last job,” Steve swears, “That’s all I need and then I’m out.” 

His cab is going to be here any minute, despite the early hour.  Steve had wanted to spend their morning giving his fiance a proper goodbye, but when he leans in for a kiss-

“You promised we could go straight,” Bucky murmurs, turning his face away, “We can’t go into business together if you’re still  in _the_ business , Steve.”

“I can’t pass it up, Buck,” Steve insists, “This could mean a fresh start for us.  Go somewhere new, where you can invent and my reputation doesn’t follow us everywhere we go.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, “An’ where’s that?  Antarctica?”

“We’ll move to Vermont,” Steve suggests, “Open a restaurant.”

“You’re a shit cook.”

“We’ll just do breakfast.  Any idiot can cook breakfast,” Steve purrs, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist from behind, “You can do all the tech stuff.  We’ll have the most secure bed and breakfast on the east coast.”

“I bet.” Bucky’s trying and failing to hide his grin.

“Yeah,” Steve confirms seriously, kissing Bucky’s neck, “They’ll write about us in fancy magazines.”  

They sway, Bucky leaning back into Steve’s embrace, but Steve can practically feel it when Bucky’s smile shrinks and his thoughts turn back to the morose.  Steve pulls Bucky’s hand to his mouth.  Kisses his metal fingers.

“You gotta come back, Steve,” Bucky breathes, “You gotta swear you’re gonna make it back to me.  ‘Cause if you go out in a blaze of glory I gotta go on living, and I don’t wanna know what that’s like.”

Steve presses another kiss to his fiance’s shoulder, still holding his hand.

“It’s a quick job,” he promises, “Three days.  Then we can buy our tickets outta this goddamned desert for good.”

They hold each other close until Steve’s ride honks out front.  

Bucky lets him go with one final kiss at the door.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he orders.  

“I love you too,” Steve replies.  He turns his back, and it’s the last time he’ll see James Barnes smile for almost three years.


	20. 2015

Under the glittering lights of the Hydra marquee, Steve checks his watch.  

8:00.  

It’s showtime.  

If he closes his eyes he can see the whole plan laid out.  

Bruce is on the headset, cueing each stage of the plan and making sure no one shows up on any cameras they aren’t supposed to.  Natasha just went in the bullion cart, with thirty minutes of oxygen until Clint can get her wheeled into the Hydra vault.  Sam is probably somewhere on the floor, the young Interpol agent on his way to confront Thor, their fake cattle ranch heir/black market arms dealer.  Tony is priming their pinch, to knock out the lights and the motion sensors in the elevator shaft.  Rhodey is running tech and explosives on the replica vault, ready for their coup de grace.

And Steve...Steve has a date with Alexander Pierce.  And he knows one surefire way to get his attention.


	21. 2015

The restaurant is crowded.  The whole joint is really.  They’re counting on it.  It’s a weekend night after all, and the vault has to have enough cash to back up every round of cards and every roll of the dice that goes down under the Hydra’s very opulent roof.  

Bucky is dressed to the nines.  It’s time for he and Pierce’s obligatory dinner date, no doubt followed by a long evening being dragged around the casino on  _ Alex _ ’s arm, Bucky’s success and good looks being shown off like a diamond necklace on a trophy wife.  

Fortunately, Pierce is going to find his time otherwise occupied tonight.  

Steve approaches Bucky’s table.  He can see a subtly dressed security officer touching his ear.  Waiting for instructions.  

“Bucky.”  He touches his fiance’s shoulder gently.  Bucky still flinches, then stands.  

“Steve?”

All eyes are now on them.  Perfect.

“Hi.”

“I asked you not to come here,” Bucky says, a question in his eyes.  Steve’s gives a tiny nod.   _ Trust me _ .

“I couldn’t stay away.” Steve takes Bucky’s hand and kisses the back of it.  “You look incredible.”

Bucky makes a show of looking uncomfortable, glancing around, conscious of the other patrons staring.  “Why did you come back?” 

“Some things came up,” Steve tells him, “I have to go out of town for a while.  I wanted to give you one more chance.  To come with me.”

It’s all a script, more or less, but there’s enough truth in their words to make it hurt.  Neither of them are all that good at acting, after all.

“Come away with me,” Steve pleads, “We were so good together.”

“I can’t,” Bucky says, turning his face away, “You  _ know _ I can’t Steve, why are you doing this-”

Steve frowns, torn, then sighs, defeated.  

“I understand,” Steve replies, for the restaurant to hear, “Goodbye, Buck.”  He leans in close to place a kiss on Bucky’s cheek.

“I love you,” Steve whispers, lips grazing Bucky’s cheek, “’til the end of the line.”

Bucky’s eyes are full of tears when Steve pulls away.  Steve steps back, letting go of Bucky’s left hand last.  Bucky jumps when Steve slips a small magnet onto his metal palm.  It attaches with a soft clink, nearly invisible.  Steve doesn’t look back as he walks away.  

It’ll only take Bucky seconds to decode the short message once he gets to a computer.

_ We’re cutting the power at 8:52.  Three minutes, baby.   _

* * *

 

Pierce is waiting for him at the foot of the stairs, flanked by two men in suits.

“Mr. Rogers,” he greets him with a Old Hollywood smile, “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

Steve returns Pierce’s empty grin.  “I bet you have.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey look, a cameo!

“I believe,” Pierce begins, “I made it very clear that you aren’t welcome in my establishment,  _ Steven.” _

If he weren’t old enough to be Bucky’s father, Steve would have to admit that Alexander Pierce is a handsome man.  He’s well groomed.  Well dressed.  Polished.  Scary, when one is the target of his displeasure, as Steve is now.  This is a man accustomed to power, and used to having obstacles disappear.  Steve is an obstacle.

“I needed to see my fiancé.”

“Your  _ former _ fiancé does not need to see you.”

“I think we should leave that up to him.  Don’t you,  _ Alex _ ?” 

Pierce sighs, as though Steve is a particularly willful child.

“James has tried to be tolerant of your little interruptions,” Pierce says, “But I feel it’s time that I intervene.  For his sake, you understand.”

Steve scowls.  “I’m not sure I do.”

Pierce’s smile fades.  “I was afraid you might say that.  I have an associate who I hope will change your mind.”

“I’m sure he’s a real credit to society,” Steve replies, cool.  

“He’s very good at the job I pay him for.”  Pierce nods at his guards, who flank Steve on either side.  “Let’s get this over with.  I’m late for dinner, after all.”

“Mr. Pierce.”

A newcomer to the scene.  And right on schedule.  

“I’m in the middle of something at the moment, sir,” Pierce replies, still focused on Steve, “If you need assistance one of my employees would be more than happy to-”

Pierce gets a good look at Sam, who interrupted them, and pauses.  

“Agent Jackson, Interpol.”  Sam really looks the part.  Young agent, looking to prove himself.  Nervous, but maybe a little hotheaded when the right pressure is applied.  He flips a badge with practiced ease.  “I’m afraid I’m going to need two minutes of your time.” 

“Anything for the boys in blue,” Pierce replies, after a beat.  He turns to his goons.  “I trust you two can get Mr. Rogers where he needs to go?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Then I’m all yours, Agent,” Pierce says, every inch the benevolent innkeeper, “Lead the way.”

“Thank you, sir.” Sam guides Pierce away to one of the blackjack pits, where Thor is waiting to have his moment.  “We’re at a very sensitive point in our investigation regarding one of your guests, and the agency wanted to spare you as much embarrassment as possible-”

“This way,” one of the guards practically growls, “Mr. Pierce doesn’t want a scene.”

At this point neither does Steve.  With the next part of the con in play he follows the guards meekly to an empty office off the main floor.  The room is sterile.  Like it’s been bleached a few times before.  

“No cameras in here, huh?” Steve ponders, leaning against a plain desk.  The guards don’t reply.  After a few minutes there is a knock at the door, and Steve is faced with a large, intimidating man with multiple tattoos and a handlebar mustache.  

“We’ll leave you two to talk things out,” one of the guards says with a barely concealed smirk.  The two men leave, and with a click the door locks from the outside.  

“Okay, now-” Steve begins, before he’s blindsided by one hell of a haymaker to the jaw.  For a minute he just sees stars.  

“ _ Jesus _ Dum Dum,” Steve curses after the room stops spinning, touching a hand to his throbbing cheek, “Not yet!”

Dugan raises his hands in reconciliation.

“Sorry Steve,” he apologizes, tugging at his bowler cap, “Just got caught up in the drama of the moment is all.”

“Don’t- _ ah- _ don’t worry about it.” Dugan gives Steve a hand up.  “How’s your wife?”

“Pregnant again.”  Dum Dum is half exasperated, half proud.  “Your call came at a good time.”

“Glad to hear it,” Steve says, clapping his old friend on the back.  “Give me a boost, will ya?”

They move a desk to the corner, where Steve climbs up into the ceiling through a loose grate.  This room just happens to be conveniently located just a brief crawl from the main elevator shaft leading to Hydra’s vault.  

Will wonders never cease.  

“Keep ‘em wondering, won’t you?” Steve says before closing the grate.  Dugan gives him a thumbs up.

“Thanks.”  The last thing Steve hears is Dum Dum cursing and a large crash, no doubt from throwing himself into one of the empty filing cabinets.  If he wasn’t out of the room he’d almost feel bad for himself.  It sounds like a brutal beatdown.

It’s a short shimmy through a ventilation shaft and there’s the top of the elevator waiting.  Steve scoots on top, flips the maintenance panel open and oh look-there’s Sam.  

“ _ Jesus-”   _ Poor guy nearly drops his prop briefcase when he catches sight of Steve waiting for him.

Steve grins and offers him a hand up into the elevator shaft.

“You didn’t really think I was gonna sit this one out, did you?” 


	23. Chapter 23

“Did you get the codes?”

Sam waves a slim black envelope.  “It wasn’t easy.”

“Thor okay?”  Sam rolls his eyes.  

“We’re good,” he says, grinning, “Chad the arms dealer and Agent Jackson?  Not so much.  It was a very insensitive encounter by all parties.”

“I’ll bet,” Steve quips, “Everything went smoothly other than that?”

“Other than you giving me a damn heart attack, yeah,” Sam replies, shedding his Interpol suit for the more practical black tac gear underneath, “When I walked up to Pierce and you were standing there with those goons I didn’t know  _ what  _ to do.”

“You made the right call,” Steve says, doing the same, “Stick to the plan.”

“Says you,” Sam shoots back, “How are you even here?”

“I paid off an old friend,” Steve replies, glib, “Crawled through a ventilation shaft.”

“Yeah but what about Natasha,” Sam asks, “The whole argument. What was that about?”

“It’s about James Barnes,” Steve admits, slipping in his earpiece, “He’s my fiancé.”

“Shit,” Sam exclaims, “Well, that makes the whole restaurant thing a lot clearer.”

“Yeah.  Pierce is blackmailing him.  This is the only way to get him out.  I couldn’t risk the rest of the guys shooting me down, so Nat and I staged the argument.”  Steve winces at Sam’s flat look.  “Sorry.”

“Just tell me next time,” Sam says, “Honor among thieves, dude.  I lost sleep over that fight.”

“Noted,” Steve agrees, turning on his mic, “Bruce, do you read me?”

“ _ Hey, Steve, _ ” Banner replies, rolling with the punches as usual, “ _ Welcome back, I guess.” _

“Sam and I are in the shaft,” Steve continues, “How’s the timeline?”

“ _ Everything’s on track.  Just let us know when you’re ready for the blackout.” _

“Roger that.”  Steve catches one of the rappelling harnesses Sam tosses him.  “You afraid of heights?” He asks.

Sam laughs.  

“Remind me to show you what I used to do for the Air Force some time,” he replies, hooking up his line like he’s done it a million times.  

In a few minutes they’re both dangling over the empty shaft, looking down at the red criss cross of motion sensors and hoping the extremely thin cables holding them up don’t break.

“Banner, we’re set,” Steve says into the comm link.

“ _ Me too,”  _  Clint adds.

“ _ And I _ ,” Thor agrees.

“ _ Anytime fellas _ ,” Natasha chimes in.  She’s gotta be running out of air.

“ _ Tony, that means you’re up _ ,” Bruce says.

“ _ I’ve got my finger on the button,”  _ Tony declares, “ _ Las Vegas goes dark in three, two, one…” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe...shaft.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A year later, we finally fire Chekov's gun.

The elevator shaft goes pitch black, and they have three minutes until the backup generator kicks in and the security system is back on in full force.  Natasha is waiting for them in the vault.  

Steve breaks open a package of glow sticks.  He cracks them, then lets them go.  He and Sam watch until they see the blue glow hit the floor. 

It’s a ways down.  

“Welp.”  Steve has his finger on his cable release.  “Time to go.”

They drop.  Their harnesses delay the fall, the slim but strong cable slipping through their gloved fingers, stopping them about six feet up from the ground.  From there there’s nothing to do but cut the cables and hope for a soft landing.

“Oof,” Sam says when they hit the concrete, “That’s gonna leave a mark.”

“Walk it off,” Steve quips, rubbing his own sore backside, “We’re gonna have ten million each to spend on ice once we get out of here.”

Sam laughs.  “It doesn’t hurt so bad when you put it like that.”   

Steve gives him a hand up and they look up in time to see the red motion sensors blink back on.  

The blackout is over.

They’ve got a can of knock out gas for the two guards waiting on the other side of the elevator doors.  It’s quick, effective, with minimal lingering effects.  They’re not here to kill anybody.

Once they hear both guards drop they secure their ankles and wrists with zip ties, and move on to the first of the vault locks.  Steve leaves it up to Sam, who memorized the codes after he lifted them from Pierce earlier.  

They make it through the first door and he checks in with Bruce.  

“How’s Natasha?”  

“ _ She’s out of the case, _ ” Bruce replies, “ _ And...she’s made the jump.  Looks like we’ll be ready as soon as you guys set the charges.” _

“Should be just a minute,” Steve agrees as the second lock blinks green.  It’s not until he’s looking through the grate of the final door that he sees a hiccup in the works.

“Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“How many codes were in that folder?”

“Um...three,” Sam says, punching in the numbers to the last security door, “Why?”

“Because it looks like there’s a fourth lock.”

“...shit.”

There’s a glass panel door standing between them and the safe.  It’s locked, with a small digital number pad installed tastefully on one side.  Steve looks along the seam between the doors and the wall and sees tell-tale green lights.  If they tamper with the lock, or damage the glass, alarms go off.  Smart.

“Bruce,” Sam says into the comm, “Have you got anything on this?  Can you hack it remotely?”

“ _ It’s not in the plans,”  _ Bruce says, scrambling on the other line, “ _ It must have been installed in the last year.  I’ve got nothing here.” _

Other voices chime in on the line, Clint swearing and Tony and Rhodey offering ideas on how to hotwire the keypad.  They’re up shit creek, but something about this tech strikes Steve as familiar.  

“That display screen is too big,” Steve murmurs, staring at the number pad.  The black screen is almost square, like the touch pad on a laptop. Or…

“It’s biometric.  Who has access to the settings on the safe?” Steve asks into his headset.  There’s only one chance at this.  He’s right or he’s wrong.  

“Pierce,” Rhodey says in his ear.  Shit.

“And the guy who designed the hardware in the first place,” Tony chimes in a second later, “Or he did when he installed it.”

“What’s going through your head, Steve?” Sam asks.  Steve just stares at the touch pad.  Right or wrong.  

Steve pulls off his glove and drags his bare fingers across the black screen.  No.  Not screen.  Sensor pad.

The light blinks green and the glass slides away, leaving the heavy safe door free and clear.   _ Access granted _ .

“Oh my god,” Sam groans, smacking the back of Steve’s head, “How in the hell did that work?  Did you know that was gonna happen?  I assume you knew, because otherwise-“

“That’s Bucky’s system,” Steve says, heart still racing, “I’m the demo signature.  He never took it out.”

Bucky never erased him from the system.  It’s like a fucking metaphor.  

Steve grins.

“Let’s get moving,” he says.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realized i've forgotten to date the last few chapters, but in case it wasn't clear everything from here on out is set in the present timeline.

After the suspense of getting through Bucky’s surprise lock, blowing the vault itself is easy.  Steve and Sam set up a circle of small charges that Natasha matches on the inside, and with the press of the button they disrupt the inner security.  A mini-pinch, if you will, except this one permanently fries the electrics.  No more surprise alarms.

Natasha is waiting patiently inside, seated on a giant pile of money.  

“Took you two long enough.”

“Sorry, we hit a snag,” Sam says, pulling several compact duffle bags out of the case they’d smuggled Natasha in with, “But Pierce underestimated the power of true love when he updated his security.”

Natasha glances at Steve.  “Touching.”

“ _Can somebody take a picture of this?”_ Clint’s voice crackles onto the comms.  He must be with Bruce, watching the cameras. _“Cause that’s gotta be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”_

Natasha looks directly into the security camera, pulling a neat bundle of hundred dollar bills to her lips and kissing it, before flipping Clint the bird.  

“ _Aw…_ ”

“I’d say we’re ready for the showstopper,” Natasha suggests, once Steve and Sam start packing up the money.

“Make the call,” Steve agrees.  Nat is already dialing.

“Mr. Pierce,” she greets after a few rings, “Nice to have a voice to go with that handsome face.  …Who is this?”

She winks at Steve.

“This is the woman who’s robbing you.”

It’s a mad shuffle on the other end of the line, Pierce predictably heading to his main security room, where Bruce already has full control of the cameras.  Pierce, and his team, only see what they want him to see, which right now is a clean loop of the vault and the hall outside, undisturbed.  

Natasha hears as much from their unlucky casino owner.

“Nothing out of place?”  Natasha repeats, “Hm...you may want to look again.”

“Bruce,” Steve orders when Natasha gives the nod, “Switch the feeds.”

“ _Done.”_

Now Pierce is looking at recorded footage of their replica vault, where Thor and Clint wearing ski masks are hastily packing bricks of fake money into duffle bags, paired with the very real feed of the two guards Sam and Steve left tied up outside.

Natasha’s smile grows, and Steve knows Pierce has taken the bait.

“Threats won’t help you tonight, Mr. Pierce,” Natasha replies, after a pause for what Steve is sure was a very intimidating monologue, “But I have a solution, if you’re willing to cut some...acceptable losses.”

There’s another heavy pause.

 _He’s making the call_ , Natasha mouths to Steve after a minute.  

“Bruce, he’s calling in his private army.”

“ _I’ve got the line_ ,” Bruce confirms, then in a modified voice, “ _Schmidt Security, what is your emergency?”_

“Mr. Pierce?...So you’ve decided to play ball,” Natasha says into the phone, playing dumb, “Glad to hear it.  Here’s what you do.”

God, it’s complicated.  Steve is pretty sure he couldn’t explain it over the phone.  Not with Nat’s style, anyway.

In this hypothetical deal she’s brokering with Pierce, he has two options.  They’ve wired the vault to explode, and they’re only taking half the money out of it.  They’ll send the money up in the elevator in six bags, also wired to explode, and Pierce will send three employees to load the money into a van that they’ll have waiting.  If they attempt to tamper with, or exchange, the duffle bags packed with money, Natasha will blow the vault and the bags.  If they try to stop the van, or approach the driver, Natasha will blow the vault and the bags.  If they try to stop Natasha and her crew from leaving the premises, they’ll blow the vault and the bags.

So Pierce has two options: He can lose 50 million privately, or he can lose 100 million publicly.  And Alexander Pierce is not a man who wants the police, or the media, looking too closely at his books.

Of course, none of that’s real.

Everything Natasha is saying over the phone is a wild goose chase they cooked up to keep Pierce and his goons running in circles.  The footage on the security monitors that Pierce is watching is a tastefully edited home movie that they filmed a week ago in their replica vault.  The bags are full of ads for domestic abuse hotlines, and Tony is driving the van via remote control from the safety of headquarters.  

What they’re _actually_ going to do is pack up all 100 million and walk out the door.  

After a little more smoke and mirrors.  This is still Vegas, after all.


	26. Chapter 26

All the money is packed when the security tac team arrives.  Or rather, when  _ their  _ team arrives, in Schmidt security gear.  In retrospect this job requires a lot of stolen dry cleaning.  

Pierce conveniently cuts the power so the team can repel down the elevator shaft and “storm” the vault.  Steve, Sam, and Natasha are ready and waiting, the money packed in bags that just so happen to match the Schmidt security uniforms.  

“Greetings friends,” Thor booms, lifting the visor on his helmet.  Behind him are Clint and Rhodey.  “How goes our heist?”

“ _ Right on schedule _ ,” Bruce says over the line.  Steve checks his watch.  Their fake security feed should be entering its denouement.  The security team storms the vault, which triggers the thieves’ explosives.  Shouting, gunfire, smoke.  The whole shebang.  That means-

“Rhodey, you’re up.”   

“About time.”  Rhodey holds up his homemade grenade.  Lots of smoke.  Lots of bang.  No structural damage.  They pass out earplugs, then Rhodey pulls the pin and tosses the bomb into the vault.  

Clint turns off his hearing aids.  

Flash.  Bang.  

Now the real vault matches what Pierce is seeing on the tape.  And what he sees is all his money being blown sky high.  Next he’ll try to take the van, and Tony will blow that too.   

They wait for the smoke to clear and take the black bags back into the vault.  Placed randomly in the space, they look like equipment brought in by the security team.  They’re ready for the last step of the job. 

“The guards are coming to,” Steve observes.  

“Time to play cops and robbers,” Natasha declares, pulling on the tactical helmet Clint hands her, “And time for  _ you _ to get back to whatever hole Pierce had you stashed in.”

“I hate to miss this part.”  

Natasha grins.  “You can’t have all the glory, Rogers.”  She pulls on her helmet, and a bulky tac vest, and blends in with the rest of the team.  

“ _ He’s on his way down,”  _ Bruce reports, _ “Get out of there, Steve. _ ”

“You’re gonna have to talk me through it, Bruce _ , _ ” Steve requests, pulling the grate off the closest ventilation shaft. 

“ _ You got it. _ ”

Steve wiggles back through the air ducts while Natasha and the crew pretend to investigate the scene.  Rhodey’s flash bomb took out the camera, so they only person they have to fool is Pierce, who isn’t exactly thinking with a clear head.  He’s had a rough night.  

Acting Commander Clint gives Mr. Pierce a rundown of the situation, standing in the smoky ruins of his vault.  Device detonated.  No bodies on the scene.  No evidence of the suspects coming or going.  

It looks like their investigation isn’t going anywhere.  What a shame.  

There’s a pause when Pierce orders the security team out of the room.  

“ _ Mr. Pierce, are you sure you don’t want to step out until the bomb squad clears-” _

He hears Pierce snap the order again, a crack in his carefully maintained veneer of Rat Pack charm.

“ _ It’s your vault, sir _ ,” Clint says gruffly, “ _ Delta team, move out!” _

There’s shuffling, the tac team picking up their bags and exiting the vault in a neat line, leaving Pierce to his brooding.  

Steve grins.  “How’re they doing, Banner?”

“ _ They’re walking right out the door.”   _ Bruce sounds about as giddy as Steve feels.

There’s nothing quite like a con coming together.


	27. Chapter 27

Steve drops back into the interrogation room with a minute to spare.  Dum Dum has done a real number on the furniture.  He takes a few seconds to straighten the suit he wore in and make sure he doesn’t have any equipment bulging where it shouldn’t be.  

“ _ He’s coming for you, Steve _ ,” Bruce warns.  They expected this.  Pierce has taken a hit, so he’s gonna be looking to hit someone else.

“We’re all set here,” Steve replies, before taking out his earpiece.  Dum Dum stashes it in one of his numerous pockets before walloping Steve right in the solar plexus.

Steve goes down with a grunt, the wind very convincingly knocked out of him.  “Thanks Dum Dum,” he wheezes.

“Always happy to be of service,” Dum Dum replies, dragging Steve up for another hit as the door opens and Pierce steps inside. 

“That’s enough,” he says, “Thank you, Dugan.”

Dum Dum drops Steve back to the floor in a pile.  “Sure thing, Mr. Pierce.”

“Hi,  _ Mr. Pierce _ ,” Steve says with a grin, still breathing heavy, “I didn’t think you’d be back.  Your bruiser and I have been having a great chat.”

Pierce nods to his guards.  “Pick him up.”

Steve gets dragged up by his elbows.  Pierce looks to the guy on Steve’s left, and Steve takes a hard hit.  He sees stars for the second time tonight.  That’s gonna be a nice shiner by morning.  

“Wipe that smirk off your face, son.”

Steve shakes the spots from his vision.  “Rough night?”

“I have had a very... _ trying _ evening,” Pierce says, voice soft and dangerous, “But I do have one significant prize left to me.  You’ll forgive me if I take the opportunity to gloat.”

“Let him go.” 

“I don’t have to  _ let _ James do anything,” Pierce continues, “He’s perfectly capable of making his own decisions.  He’s chosen me.”

_ Chosen _ , between Pierce and a slow death by irradiation, but Steve isn’t supposed to know about that.

“Cause you’ve  _ brainwashed  _ him,” he growls instead, struggling fruitlessly against the guards holding him back.

“I’ve given him a much more comfortable life than the one he shared with you,” Pierce informs him, “A safer life, away from derelicts and convicts who abandon him.  He made his opinion of you perfectly clear to me after your first little visit.”

That’s a pretty bold faced lie, but Steve lets the doubt bleed into his features anyway.  He’s just a dumb ex-con with stalking tendencies, after all.  And Pierce is looking for a victory.  

“If you disturb us again, I will notify the authorities,” Pierce says, “If you attempt to harass James with any more delusional  _ rescue  _ schemes, I will make sure you find yourself in...unpleasant circumstances.  Those are his wishes, and mine.  I hope we’ve both made ourselves clear.”

“Crystal,  _ Alex _ ,” Steve says, adding the right touch of bitterness to his words, “Bucky is exactly where he wants to be right now.”

Steve wishes he had a camera to capture Pierce’s smug grin.  He wants to frame the print and hang it in his living room.  Call it  _ The Triumph of Irony.   _

“If you’ll excuse me,” Pierce says at last, “It’s been a long day, and I have a very comforting someone waiting for me upstairs.”

Steve hangs his head, so Pierce can’t see his smirk.

“Escort Mr. Rogers off the premises,” Pierce orders his goons, “Don’t be gentle.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting near the end, folks.

Steve stumbles out the service entrance of the Hydra, a little roughed up but a lot richer.

There’s a jet black Ferrari waiting for Steve at the end of the block.  

“Long time so see,” Natasha quips from the driver’s seat, tossing Steve a freshly cracked ice pack as he climbs into the back.  

“Everybody good?” He asks as she pulls away from the curb.  

“All one hundred million of us.”  Natasha’s grin is plain in the rearview mirror.  

That number feels even better than pressing the cold pack to his throbbing eye.

“Nice work, Romanov.”

“You didn’t do so bad yourself, Rogers.”

Steve checks his personal phone.  No messages.  

Still, that doesn’t mean-

“Looks like we’ve got a hitchhiker,” Natasha observes dryly, and whaddya know, there he is.  

Bucky is looking as beautiful as Steve has ever seen him.  His hair is loose around his face, and he’s wearing a ragged red hoodie over his dress pants that Steve remembers from lazy nights in their old apartment.  He’s waiting on the corner with nothing but the clothes on his back and a slim black briefcase.

Bucky sees them coming and smiles.  Steve hasn’t seen that grin since he got put away.  

They pull up to the stop sign and Steve rolls down his window.  Bucky saunters up, cool as you please.  

“Hey sugar,” Bucky leers, leaning over the window, “You rationed?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies, grinning like a dope, “I’ve been saving up for my best guy.”

“Save the role-play for later kids,” Natasha interjects, and then Bucky is tugging open the back door and scrambling into Steve’s arms.  

For a minute they just hold on to each other.  

They made it.    

“You get what you need?” Steve asks.  Bucky nods into his shoulder.  Touches the bruise blooming high on Steve’s cheek.  

“It’s nothing,” Steve assures him, “Pierce wanted to hit something.  I still got the better end of the deal.”

Bucky presses a kiss to the spot, just below his eye.  

“I’ll say.”

“Buckle up, lovebirds,” Natasha quips, putting the Ferrari into drive, “We’ve got a fake SWAT team to meet up with.”

“Can we make a pit stop?” Bucky asks, pulling a sealed business envelope from the pocket of his sweater.  Steve can see the clear bulge of a flash drive. “I gotta drop a letter to the Nevada Gaming Commission.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve asks, kissing Bucky’s cheek, “Sending a love note?”

Bucky’s grin is wicked.  “Not exactly,” he says, “But it only took me thirty seconds to crack Alex’ safe.  I figured a few encrypted files off his personal computer wouldn’t go amiss.”

“What else were you supposed to do with all that extra time?” Natasha chimes in from the driver’s seat.  Bucky rests his head against Steve’s chest, still clutching his envelope of evidence in his hand like a trophy.

“I know, right?”


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Some guys, that I take seriously, tell me you...are a serious guy."-Willy Bank, Ocean's Thirteen  
> In case anybody was wondering about the title.

They all meet up one last time, in front of the iconic fountain.  

There’s no celebrating. 

No champagne.  

Just a minute of silent contemplation against the marble railing, watching the water swirl and dance under the golden lights.  

They did it.  They beat the unbeatable system.  

Steve kisses Bucky’s hand.  He notices Natasha slip her arm around Clint’s waist.  Fury claps Sam on the back.  

Thor is smiling, wistful, thinking of someone else.  He’s the first to walk away, still the outsider to the familiar crew.  He offers Steve a nod, then fades into the crowd, ever the chameleon.

Eventually the silence breaks, especially once the others realize they’ve added a tenth man to their little ragtag group.  Most everyone knows Bucky already, if not as Steve’s fiancé then as a world class wirebug.  Retired, of course.  Still, everyone is glad to see him, especially after Steve shares Bucky’s anonymous donation to the NGC’s illegal business practices case against Alexander Pierce.  

“Barnes,” Fury says, “Good to see you a free man.”

“Good to be one,” Bucky replies.  Nick smiles.  Or as much as Nick does that sort of thing.  

“You keep Rogers’ head on straight,” he orders, “We don’t need anymore crazy ideas around here.”

“Yessir.”  Nick shakes Steve’s hand.  

“You ever want to talk business,” he says, “Knock on somebody else’s door.  Otherwise, you’re welcome to stop by for breakfast anytime.”

Steve laughs.  “Now that you mention it,” he replies, “I’m thinking of retiring.  I’ve got a little nest egg, and I think it’s time I put my future husband’s career first.”

Fury nods, approving.  “Glad to hear it.”

Bucky gives Steve’s waist a squeeze as Nick walks off the sidewalk to his waiting car.

Tony’s met Bucky once or twice, but he’s much more interested in getting to know his metal arm.  

“Hey, I know that tech.  That thing doesn’t still have a palladium core, does it?” He exclaims, “Those things are like the asbestos of bioware.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky replies, pulling his left arm in against his chest, “I’d drop it but it’s kind of wired into my spine.”  

“You must be switching out the charges-”

“Every two weeks.”  

“Well fuck,” Tony declares, “That stuff’s pretty scarce in the market right now.”

“Tell me about it,” Bucky replies, holding up his briefcase, “Luckily I just happened to lift about half the current American supply from a very unlucky casino owner.  Gives me a little time to tinker.”  

Tony laughs.  “You’re my kind of guy.  So how much have you got?”

“I’d say I got about two years worth.”

Stark’s eyes light up.  “Buddy, with two years and Pierce’s funds, between you and me we can build you a new arm from the ground up.  No dangerous chemicals needed.”

“Sounds nice,” Bucky says, suspicious, “What’s it gonna cost me?”

“The name of your patent lawyer,” Tony says, grinning, “I hear good things.”

Bucky grins back.  “I think we can make a deal.”

Rhodey drags Tony off before they get too involved in talking shop.  Apparently the MIT Two are on a few too many wanted posters in Nevada after their foiled bank robbery.  They’ve got a ride set up to get them out of state, but Tony promises to be in touch once things cool down.  

Bruce and Bucky know each other from a few old jobs during the digital boom, when you needed at least two hackers to pull off a con, no matter how small.  Steve wraps his arm around Bucky’s shoulders as Bruce is handing him a small business card.    

“My therapist,” Bruce says quietly, “She’s a good listener, if you wanted to talk to someone.  Either of you.”

Steve never told anyone but Natasha explicitly what the situation was between Bucky and Pierce, but Bruce tends to notice things like that.  Bucky takes the card, tucking it into his hoodie, then shakes Bruce’s hand.    

“Thank you.”  

Clint isn’t much for long farewells, but Steve catches his wave goodbye and replies with a carefully signed  _ thanks, see you later _ .  Clint grins, and tosses Steve a salute before heading out.  

“So this is the fiancé who designs trick locks.” 

Bucky grins at Sam.  

“That’s me,” he agrees, “You’re the guy that was tailing Pierce for about a week.  You’re pretty good.”

“You saw me?”  Sam looks like he  doesn’t know whether to be offended or impressed.  Bucky just nudges Steve.  

“I learned from the best,” is all he says.  

“So, Sam,” Steve says, “Enough excitement for you?”

Sam shakes his head.  “Too much,” he admits, “I think I’m ready to sleep for about a month.”

“Back to DC, then,” Steve guesses.  Sam nods.  

“Back to DC,” he agrees, then with a grin, “But a much larger apartment.  I’ll take that deal.”  

“Good luck.”

“Same to you guys,” Sam says, pulling up the collar of his jacket, “You’ve got my number if you ever want to buy me another coffee.”

“Will do.”

Sam pats Steve on the back and hails a cab.

That leaves Natasha.  

“I guess this is goodbye.”  

Steve is sad to see her go.  She drove all the way to Jersey for him, after all. 

“It’s time to make ourselves scarce for a while,” she says, shrugging, “But I’ll be in touch.”

Bucky pulls Nat into a hug.  “You better.”

That gets a smile.

Natasha kisses them both on the cheek, and then it’s just Steve and Bucky, watching the fountains under the twinkling lights.

“So now what?”  Steve asks, leaning against the railing.

“Well,” Bucky sighs, “I hear you’re retiring, and I can work anywhere, so we have some options.”

Steve nods.  Waits.  Bucky raises his eyebrows.  Purses his lips.  

“You know,” he suggests after a minute, toying with Steve’s ringless finger, “I hear Vermont’s nice this time of year.”

Steve grins.  “I was thinking the same thing.”

They kiss.  Steve has a crazy idea.  

“Do you mind if we make a pitstop first?”

* * *

  
They pay for their marriage license in cash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for tagging along on this crazy ride<333


End file.
